


The Edge of Your Affection

by bird_on_a_wire



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bird_on_a_wire/pseuds/bird_on_a_wire
Summary: “The opposite of love is not hate, Lady, but that of indifference. For hate has as strong a pull, and as deep a connection, as love ever has. So perhaps love and hate are not to be looked at as opposites, but two sides of the same coin.”This fic takes place toward the end of Season 4, and will continue past what is canonically known in the show.
Relationships: Aelswith (The Last Kingdom) & Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Aelswith/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 17
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

"Ale?" 

Aelswith startled at Uhtred's voice, coming like a demon out of the shadows of their camp just outside Thatcham. She opened her mouth to protest, more out of habit than necessity, but consented and took the leather flask with a nod. Behind her, Aethelstan was asleep in the tent Uhtred and his men had put up, and from the corner of her eye Aelswith could see his men sitting around their own fire. The lady Eadith and Uhtred’s daughter Stiorra with them. 

"Thank you." The words felt as bitter as the brew on her tongue, and she gulped it down. It was not the Mercian wine she was used to and she coughed at the bubbliness of it on her tongue, the strength of it taking her by surprise. 

"I believe that is now the second time I have heard you utter your gratitude to me, Lady." Uhtred teased, sitting down next to her. He reached over and added another log to her small fire. "And in one day." 

Aelswith's jaw tightened at the remark. Father Pyrlig's admission earlier in the day about her being the only one who did not understand Alfred's reasons for trusting Uhtred still smarted. For all his usefulness, she did not appreciate the Welsh monk’s disrespectful attitude towards her. He was more insolent than Becca had ever been. God rest his soul. "Yes, well, I shall refrain from further appreciations, lest your already grandiose interpretation of your self-importance grows any larger." She held the flask to her lips and swallowed another few gulps. It was not watered down like most ale they served in Winchester's great hall and Aelswith felt the heat of it in her cheeks. 

"I meant it in jest, Lady," Uhtred said, his voice low and for their conversation alone. 

"I know you think me a fool. Father Pyrlig said as much earlier. I only meant to show that I was grateful for what you have done for my family. For the boy." Aelswith felt the tiny muscles in her chin quiver, in a rush of shameful embarrassment, and clasped her hands together, blowing on them and rubbing them together to hide it. 

Uhtred was quiet for a long moment, picking up the flask that sat between them and taking his own long pull. "I know you believe what I did was a sacrifice. But you should know I was not the great love of Aethelflaed's life."

"You are speaking of the Dane? The one called Erik?"

"Yes." 

Though Aethelflaed had never come to her to speak of it directly, she knew the only Mercian blood flowing through Aelfwynn was Aethelflaed's alone. It was easy to see by looking at the child she was half Dane. Her fair hair was striking, and her eyes as blue as the sky on the clearest of days. And yet she was such a gentle child, loving and kind. There was pure goodness to her. 

"We did what must be done. For Mercia. For Wessex." 

"For England." 

After a moment Uhtred nodded, offering the flask back to Aelswith, but she shook her head. Already she was starting to feel the pain of it in her head, and in the pit of her gut. 

"And what of power? You were a king for all intents and purposes. It was not Bebbanburg, but it was power and money." 

Uhtred scoffed. "I have no need for power, Lady. I've seen what it does to men. And women." His words came out laced with spite and anger flooded Aelswith’s body. 

"Everything I have done was in the service of God, England and my husband. In that order." Aelswith hissed, looking at Uhtred with a fury in her heart she could not quite explain. "Do not think that I have not sacrificed things of myself for Alfred's dream of a united England." 

Aelswith turned away from Uhtred then, anger filled her eyes with tears. Years of memories rose to the surface, the faces of girls who had caught Alfred’s fancy, the children she had lost as babes, all her cautioning and wisdom and advice that fell on Alfred’s deaf ears. She pressed the hem of her sleeve to her face, catching the wayward tears before they were apparent. She found it irritating he could provoke such a rise out of her. For years now she had hated this man, for so many reasons, and now in the last few weeks he had managed to undo most of the opinions she’d held about him. 

"Yet Alfred is dead. And you are still following his dream." 

She turned back to look at him with disdain but he was looking at her so plainly, as if he truly wanted to know the answer to his unasked question. As if, for once, he cared for her opinion. "A life in the service of one's God and one's country is not without a price, Uhtred Ragnarson." She said it to hurt him. To remind him of all he had lost, to make him feel some of the pain she felt. She reached to grab the flask from him, but he held it in his hand for a moment. His eyes boring into her gaze. 

His hand was large, and Aelswith could feel the musculature of it beneath her fingers, could feel the rough battle worn scars on his skin. But he was warm. Warm in a way that Aelswith had not felt in many years. A heat that traveled from the tips of where her fingers sat upon his skin and spread like wildfire through her body. 

"You are not the only one who has lost something." 

Uhtred turned his hand, dropping the flask to the ground between them, his hand now holding just onto hers. He rubbed the side of his thumb over Aelswith's hand. His touch to the soft, delicate skin of her palm was more than Aelswith could bear. A lifetime of emotion was loaded into what was a simple and even hesitant touch, and Aelswith pulled her hand out of his, almost disappointed he let her go so easily. 

"I must sleep," she said abruptly, standing to go into the tent. "Leave. I may pray to God." Uhtred stood, unmoving, as she took the few paces to the entrance of the canvas door. He rested his hand on the handle of his seax, the other holding the wretched flask. 

"And what will you pray for, Lady?" 

"Resolve," Aelswith said honestly and stepped into the tent. 

She waited there for a moment, just inside the tent, and listened for his footsteps. There were none for what felt like ages, but then she heard him turn and retreat.


	2. Chapter 2

The pain was excruciating. More violent than a gut wound and thrice as painful. At first Aelswith thought the pain was from lack of water and food, she remembered the days in the marshes, the dull ache they had all carried when food went scarce. But soon she realizes it is not the food and water, or lack thereof. Though it is considerably un-Christian to do so she damns Aethelhelm to the deepest circles of hell. She knows this must be his doing, so like him to use a method such a poison to try to get rid of her. What a weak man he was. 

Perhaps this too was penance for her own weakness. She’d pushed Alfred for Edward’s marriage to Aelflaed, she ripped apart her son’s happiness with his wife and his child. She had told herself it was God’s plan, what God needed her to do, but lying drenched in sweat and praying for relief from the torment of those damned purple flowers, Aelswith decides perhaps that she has never known God’s plan. 

“Mother, you must drink,” Aethelflaed’s voice surrounds her but Aelswith cannot focus her eyes to find her daughter. She feels the clay mug pressed to her lips and accepts a few tiny sips of water, though she knows it will only infuriate torment in her gut. She has barely any strength, but what little she has she pushes the cup aside. Water is not the only thing that torments her, but there is no relief from the dreams that plague her. There is no cup she can refuse to drink from in order to quell them. 

She dreams of Mercia, of her childhood, of the mother she lost too young and the father who used her in negotiations with Wessex. Alfred is there too, and much like in life sometimes he does not hear her when she calls to him. He is looking at something off in the distance, something unattainable. The worst of the dreams are in the marshes. The constant choking of Edward’s cough becoming louder and louder until she wakes briefly to realize it is her choking. She retches violently, Aethelflaed forces her to sip more water and the cycle repeats itself. 

Days go by and Aelswith thinks she might truly be dying. She knows she should welcome it, should trust in God to take her if her time is here. But she finds she cannot reconcile herself just yet. There are things she must still accomplish in this life. She is so terribly worried about the boy, though every time she asks she is told to rest, not to worry. 

And suddenly there is a day that she does not retch from drinking. It takes time to heal, and Aelswith thinks the healing process may be more painful than if it would have been to die. But she wastes no time in thanking God for her health. 

It is on Edward’s visit that morning that she brings up Aethelstan. 

“The boy cannot stay here, Edward. It is too dangerous.” She takes her son’s hand, holding it between her own. “Aethelhelm has spies in every corner of Wessex. He is not safe.” 

“I have already arranged it,” Edward says, giving her hand condescending pat. “Aethelstan is not in Winchester.” 

Aelswith's face feels hot with anger and she pushes Edward’s hands away. “And where have you sent him? To Bedwyn? I shall need to go as soon as I am able. He needs to be raised by his family! By me!” 

“Mother. He is with Uhtred.” 

“Of course he is,” Aelswith snaps. “Uhtred, Uhtred, Uhtred. Why must that man be so bloody honorable!” 

Her outburst shocks Edward and he stands, clasping his hands behind his back. “You need to rest, Mother. Fretting like this over Aethelstan will not help your condition.” 

Aelswith’s fingers tighten on the blanket sitting over her lap and still she can feel her nails digging into her palms. “You may not remember this, but Uhtred did not even raise his own children. He does not know the first thing about taking care of a little boy.” 

“Mother, he is our fiercest Ealdorman, he will teach Aethelstan to be a warrior.” 

Aelswith throws her clay cup as hard as she can at the door as he closes, “He is not a warrior now.” She yells, knowing Edward can still hear her. “He is a boy!” 

Despite having barely recovered from Lord Aethelhelm’s attempted murder, Aelswith decides that if Edward will not allow her to bring the boy to her, she will go to him. Aethelflaed tries to persuade her not to go, but Aelswith dismisses her, irritated at her daughter’s willingness to cow to her brother. 

“Where will you live?” Aethelflaed asks, hands on her hips as she watches Aelswith direct the servant girl to pack her things. 

“A convent would be most convenient but since Lord Uhtred is too much of a pagan to build one, I shall have to see what he comes up with. But I will raise that boy.” 

She leaves at dawn the following day, Father Pyrlig at her side. Though she is not quite certain if he goes for her protection or Uhtred’s. Aelswith finds she does not care, and thankfully from inside the cart she is riding in, she is not subjected to having to speak to him for the ride there. 

It is dusk when they arrive, and she ignores the ache in her body as she gets out of the cart. She had wanted to ride, which despite her protestations, Father Pyrlig had been vehemently against. She had been to Coccham once with Alfred, when Uhtred’s wife had been alive. It looks much the same as she remembers. A lot of mud. Though living this close to the river provided few other options. 

It is Uhtred she sees first as she makes her way around the side of the cart. He is standing in the courtyard outside the hall, watching her grandson spar with Osferth. She has come to hate the man less, in the years since Alfred’s death. It does not fail her to see the similarities in Aethelstan and Osferth. They both have Alfred’s eyes, but Aethelstan was not the first boy who Aelswith hid away for the sake of God, of England. If there is remorse to be had, it is now that Aelswith feels it. It seems that Uhtred has a history of cleaning up her mistakes. 

There is confusion on Uhtred’s face at first, followed by that unreadable glare that Aelswith has come to know. “Lady, what are you doing here?” He asks as they walk toward one another. “The King told me you were unwell when we left Winchester several fortnights ago.” Uhtred’s hand touches her arm, just above the elbow and Aelswith can feel the heat of his grasp through the fabric of her dress. It is unsettling and she pulls her arm away from him as she turns to motion to Aethelstan. 

“Yes, I was quite ill. However, you are not rid of me yet, Lord Uhtred. I told you. Your destiny may be Bebbanburg, but mine is raising that child. I will not be put aside so you may turn him into a Dane.” 

Uhtred laughs. “And yet your son sent him to me so I may teach him everything there is to know about being a Dane.” 

“He cannot just know about the Danes. While I do not doubt that he will need it to know how to defeat them.” Uhtred grimaces at this, and Aelswith knows he is thinking of Stiorra, who will now be in Eforwic with Sigtryggr. “If he is to be King of England, all of England, he must know of his history. He must know of his grandfather’s legacy and his great grandfather’s legacy. And all the Saxon kings who came before him and the sacrifice they made so he could be the one to unite our country.” 

Uhtred crosses his arms, scratching at his jaw as he watches Aethelstan and Osferth. “You cannot take him back to Winchester, Lady. You and I both know it is not safe.” 

It is Aelswith’s turn to laugh. “I did not travel all this way because I missed you, Lord Uhtred.” Aelswith’s laugh has caused enough of a distraction and she sees Aethelstan give her a small wave, only to be thumped on the leg by Osferth. “I am here to stay.”


End file.
